


easy done, our little remedy

by casualbird



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Everybody Lives, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Kink Meme, M/M, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Slightly Weird Biology, Trans Male Character, Two of them!, porn with a soupçon of plot, the most SCANDALOUS handholding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24400189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: Underneath Jeralt again, that soft solidity pressing him once more into the thin barracks mattress—there were nowordsfor how he’d missed it.Seteth iselatedto be back in Jeralt's bed after a close call.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	easy done, our little remedy

**Author's Note:**

> seteth and jeralt are both trans in this fic! seteth's Business is most of the focus here, and i think the only word i use to describe that is 'clit,' if that's something you're comfortable with.
> 
> enjoy! or don't, i'm not the boss of you.

Compared to Seteth’s last—he supposes someone with less interest in propriety might call it a _dry spell—_ this is nothing. It’d been coming on the bicentennial of his last liaison when Jeralt had first taken him to bed, and since they’d been so crudely separated… it had only been a short smattering of fortnights.

Still. Underneath Jeralt again, that soft solidity pressing him once more into the thin barracks mattress—there were no _words_ for how he’d missed it. He hadn’t so much in the moment, sitting vigil at Jeralt’s bedside in the infirmary, speaking in hushed tones with the soberest Manuela he’d ever seen. Nor so much after that, even when Jeralt staggered slumped against his shoulder, even when he’d have to bare his broad, burdened back to change the dressings. A little, perhaps, when Jeralt surged back into his work, when he’d crumple into their bed with the exertion of balancing healing and paperwork and people asking him if he was well all day. And then unbearable, when he would mumble in his sleep, hold Seteth fast, keep him warm.

He’d stiffened his upper lip against it, though—wore his collars a little looser, never let his hands idle for a second. Jeralt was beautiful, resilient, a great standing stone of a man, but that was no excuse to strain him, to injure him again.

Of course, there was also no excuse to keep insisting on denying him—on denying _himself—_ when Jeralt’s bill of health was once more spotless, once his great tide of backed-up paperwork had ebbed, once Jeralt guided him back to his little room with a firm palm at the small of his back.

“Fuck,” he’d rasped, with his tongue barely out of Seteth’s mouth, “fuck, sweetheart, I missed you.” He trailed off, then, taking Seteth’s chewed lip between ragged-edged teeth, fingers splaying over his bare waist. “Takes more than a pinprick like that to stop me, but not being able to _have_ you… that might’ve done me in.”

He always talked like that. Like there’d been nothing wrong, like that plunging wound had been no more than a bee sting, a stubbed toe. Generally it went against Seteth’s careful grain, but just then… he conceded, soft, on a whimper.

“Yeah?” One of those hands dips down, slipping down over his obliques, settling at the familiar apex of his hipbone. Seteth couldn’t keep back a shiver—Jeralt was always so warm, so steady, so _collected._ Even now, when he’d every right to soften, to lean back, let himself be tended to… it was a heady thing.

“You took such good care of me,” Jeralt murmurs, as if Seteth had said it plainly—not just in the shifting of his hips, the soft circling of one palm over the new gnarled scar at Jeralt’s back, the way he clung to him. “I think it’s time I return the favor, huh?”

Seteth’s lips purse, then, shining-slick, stray hair caught in between. “I-I won’t have you hurting yourself… And there’s nothing to say that you owe me, I was only…” A sigh, then, soft. It’s always a new, shivering feeling, admitting this, no matter how many times he’d said so in the past weeks.

“I wouldn’t have dared leave you,” he whispers, “even if I’d wanted to.”

And Jeralt kisses him again, gentle but _deep,_ as clearly articulated as a speech from high battlements, as certain.

It doesn’t so much end as change forms—Jeralt’s lips dragging wide-mouthed kisses across Seteth’s sharp cheekbones, the point of his ear, and with the drag of stubble over thin skin… Seteth can’t help but be aware of his trembling, the curl of his fingers, the gentle squeezing of his thighs.

“Sweetheart,” Jeralt murmurs, breath hot and vivid on sensitive skin, and that... does not do wonders for Seteth’s restraint either. “I know, I know I don’t owe you—at least not like this—but Seiros’ _teeth,_ do I want to make you feel good anyway.”

Seteth’s eyes squint, and he utterly forgets to ask Jeralt not to blaspheme.

“You must tell me,” he breathes, with the thimbleful of severity he can muster, “if it’s too much.”

He can feel the spread of Jeralt’s smile then, as one weatherbeaten cheek nuzzles his own, as that hand dips just slightly down to catch a teasing handful of his thigh.

 _Angel,_ he thinks he hears, _saint._ And then, clearer, _I will, I will, I will._

Seteth is distantly aware of how foolish he sounds, whimpering a cracked “v-very well.” But—with the way Jeralt beams at him, crow’s-feet crinkling—there’s nothing in heaven and earth that could make him mind.

“Set,” Jeralt rumbles, curling rough fingertips under the waistband of his breeches. Not hard, not especially purposeful, just to tease. Jeralt is always so fond of teasing, and so damnably _good_ at it, and Seteth’s hips squirm under him, a little something catching in his throat. “What should I do for you, huh? You want me inside?”

A little shake of the head—even though Jeralt has the good sense to keep his cock in the top drawer of his nightstand, ship-shape and ready like a standing army, he’d have to _leave_ to put it on. Seteth shudders at the thought of it, and not only because the loss of Jeralt’s warmth will confound his cold blood.

Jeralt just shakes his head, gentle, close enough for his stubble just to graze Seteth’s cheek, make his breath hitch. “Alright. Can I get my mouth on you then, sweetheart?”

And Seteth _shakes_ for it, keening, shivering out a “please…!”

There’s that smile again—soft and sacrosanct, the one Jeralt only wears here, or when he’s half-asleep, or during the sunset hours they’ve taken to fishing together. Seteth jerks at the sight of it, going taut—but relaxes into the light kiss Jeralt lays on his lips.

His jaw, then, and Jeralt takes a moment to suck on the knob of his clavicle, to trace around Seteth’s stiff nipples and the scars beneath, the little patches of scales that bloom at his abdomen. His movements are slow, languid, and Seteth’s next plea is on his tongue before he sees the prudence in it—Jeralt is taking care, he realizes, not to strain his back.

Seteth isn’t quite certain _why,_ and he hasn’t the wherewithal to properly interrogate it, but this wracks him just the same as the sensations themselves, the thrum of Jeralt’s gentle humming across his skin.

Those fingers tug a little more directly at his breeches, and Seteth can only wince in reply, strain up so he’s quite certain Jeralt can see his frantic nod. Still, they come down slow, resting around his shins so he can shimmy them the rest of the way off—but it escapes him at the sound of Jeralt’s little murmur when his thighs part, “oh, poor thing, you’re _soaked.”_

It’s the kind of thing that might needle at Seteth on another night, make him bashful—but he just catches a fang on his lower lip, nods absent. _Yes,_ he catches himself thinking, _yes, and only…_

“Only for you,” he mumbles, voice brittle as an autumn leaf, “I missed you.” And the way Jeralt smiles at him, dripping pride and adulation—the muscles in Seteth’s abdomen jump, and while the talons of one hand clench dangerous in the threadbare sheets, the other moves before he’s certain what he’s done with it, bound to twine with Jeralt’s steady fingers.

Jeralt squeezes, as steady and inexorable as a strong heartbeat, dips his head to kiss a slender scar on Seteth’s thigh. It’s not one he knows the story of, not yet—ancient, from Tailtean—but he gives it his love all the same.

“All mine, aren’t you?” The words come out on a soft rumble, muffled against warm skin and Seteth can scarcely make them out over the whitewater blood in his ears. He gets the message anyway, probably would have even if he hadn’t parsed it. Jeralt’s tone is just that gentle—it’s as much the drag of chapped lips over his thigh as any sound. “Good boy.”

Seteth means, he thinks, to say something, but it just breaks off in his throat, comes off on a little keen. Jeralt laughs, from the bottom of his chest, and rewards Seteth by nuzzling his legs apart, grazing teeth soft over the thin-skinned juncture of his thigh. He sucks a mark, there, languid and wide-mouthed, and Seteth shakes with the knowledge that he’ll be able to feel it in the coming days, every time he so much as shifts.

“Jeralt?”

His knight looks up at him, and the sight of his low-lidded eyes, the rasp of Jeralt’s unshaven jaw against sensitive skin—Seteth near forgets what he was going to say.

“Yeah, angel?” The endearment comes out on a little sigh, and may the Goddess _preserve_ Seteth, he can feel it, just the minutest little brush, over the spot he needs it most.

Still—he’s got to marshal himself, got to get the words out, because Jeralt really is a considerate man. He’ll wait, steadfast, until he’s assured his little saint is alright.

“H-how long, exactly, are you planning on teasing me?” There’s an edge there, though it’s dull, bent—a soft parody of the tone Seteth uses with reading glasses at the end of his nose, scribbling in the margins of his agenda. Jeralt laughs, so lightly that it’s barely even a sound, but Seteth thrills with it all the same.

Jeralt raises an eyebrow—the one interrupted by a little scar, the one Seteth kisses in the mornings. “How long have you got? Unless there’s something else you want.”

Seteth considers, for a moment, whether there’s a delicate way to phrase _you are a very cheeky man and if you do not pony up, as you might say, in short order I shall have to be peeved at you._ There isn’t, and even if there was, well…

He hasn’t really the energy to do anything more than let his thighs slump apart, squint his eyes shut, sigh a “please.”

A look crosses Jeralt’s face like he’s won a game of darts, like the first time Seteth clasped their hands in public—but he’s merciful, and dips his head, parts his lips, gives Seteth what he needs.

Gentle, at first—Seteth is so _sensitive,_ even Jeralt’s warmth making him shiver. There’ve been times, in their first few nights together, when a too-firm touch had sent Seteth reeling, and not always in the right way.

“Please,” Seteth says again, because no matter how honorable that is—he needs Jeralt now. And has him, keening with the first warm bloom of Jeralt’s tongue against him, the way his lips close light around his swollen clit.

He hisses with the loss when Jeralt pulls off again, but is soothed by a kiss at the crest of his mons, the steadying squeeze of Jeralt’s hand. “Alright?” he murmurs, and his voice is so low, he’s so _close_ that Seteth swears he can feel it rumbling through him.

A nod, then, as tight and tense as the rest of him—Jeralt gentles him, the callused pad of his thumb dragging through the hills and valleys of Seteth’s knuckles, and for a moment leads Seteth’s breathing by example.

“Good boy,” Jeralt whispers, and punctuates it with the flat of his tongue over Seteth’s entrance, bowing just the slightest bit into him. _“Good boy.”_

And then Jeralt is kissing him again, no less dogged for the gentility of it, the reverence. Perhaps another night, the slick sounds he made might cow Seteth, set a hand hiding his face, but he’s outside of that now, back taut, throat open. Besides—one hand is still held fast in Jeralt’s, while the other shudders over the hard curve of his neck, the loose hang of his hair. 

It doesn’t take long, not when he’s waited so long for this, not when he’s spent so many nights between cold starched sheets, days with every hour he could carve out in the infirmary. Not when Jeralt is so warm, when the burn of his stubble is so perfect, when one fingertip slips softly into him, rocking rhythmic on that soft spot just inside--and then he _hums_ again, and sounds so blessedly content that Seteth simply can’t _handle_ it, all his joints locking, hips jolting up into Jeralt’s mouth. He wracks with it, quivering, and swears he can feel himself spill.

Jeralt takes this easy in his stride—doesn’t balk like Seteth was momentarily frightened he might, just keeps on with that sweet humming, keeps on laving over him, gentling until the spasming stops, until Seteth falls soft, slackened into the mattress.

“That good?” He doesn’t have to look up to hear the smirk on Jeralt’s slick lips, and it makes a smile run over his own face, like crystal honey melting. _Insufferable man,_ he thinks, and doesn’t mean it even in the slightest.

It’s a moment before he can remember he’s been spoken to, before he can shift up still shaking onto one elbow, take in the wreck he’s made of Jeralt’s hair, the way that forearm swipes casually across his mouth. “Yes,” he sighs, helpless to be anything but earnest, “thank you, Jeralt, I— can I? For you?”

But Jeralt only squeezes soft on Seteth’s hand, shakes his head. “Oh, _sweetheart._ Don’t even worry about it—if you think I’m not gonna stay down here just as long as you’ll let me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

**Author's Note:**

> written for the light kink meme, which you can find [here!](https://fe3h-kinkmeme-light.dreamwidth.org/452.html) i'd love to see more prompts (and more fills!)
> 
> do let me know what you thought of this--i am but a little gremlin that starves for validation. additionally, you are also welcome to berate me from stealing titles from hozier AGAin.
> 
> come yell about fire emblem dads with me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles)


End file.
